


Half Truths

by Macx



Series: Denuo [78]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson joins Stacy Warner for dinner... and a conversation</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half Truths

He didn't know why he had said yes to the dinner. It wasn't a date. It was a… meeting. Two people sitting in a nice restaurant, eating nice food, looking at a nice table cover, being waited on by nice people.

James Wilson studied the woman sitting across from him. Stacy Warner hadn't changed all that much since the last time they had seen each other. Maybe a bit more… harried? Stressed?

"How's Mark?" he asked as he stabbed a few leaves of salad with his fork.

"Good," Stacy answered.

There was a moment of hesitation, then,

"No, he's not good." She sighed explosively, lowering her own fork. "He's not getting better. He's not handling it well. Whatever I do, I do the wrong thing. Whatever I say, it's the wrong thing to say." Her eyes reflected her despair. "I don't know what to do anymore."

It was breaking her. Wilson gazed at the woman who had been his friend for so long, longer than House. She had introduced them to each other.

The empath carefully opened up and he wasn't surprised that he could sense emotions coming off her. Stacy was familiar and he didn't really need all that much time to get reacquainted with her. They had never been more than friends, but he knew her.

Stacy felt despair. Stacy was in pain. Stacy was… trying to find a reason not to run again.

Wilson felt a little stab of shared pain. If she ran, if she took the easy way out of her marriage, Mark would be just another Greg House.

"Stacy…" he started.

She shook her head, dark hair flying. "Don't. Just don't."

"Why?" he finally asked.

"Why did I move back? I don't know. I thought I could work with distance. I thought I could make him happy, remove the threat of Greg in his life. Even knowing that the two of you are an item drove Mark into jealousy fits. Why can't I handle it this time?" The desperation rose more. "I can't do it again, James. I can't watch him break and die inside. I can't handle it again!"

"You ran before he broke completely," Wilson said, his voice almost cold. "You left me to pick up the pieces, Stacy. You never went the whole way with House. With Mark, you're more deeply involved now. With Mark, you went past the stage of vicious remarks and distance. You already patched up that problem!"

"I know! I know…" Her voice tapered off. "And I realize what I left you to handle. I'm sorry, James. I never wanted to put the load on you, but I couldn't… couldn't watch him, in this pain, this anger… this denial."

"Now you see it in your husband. Now you're afraid of the rest."

Stacy's emotions were fluctuating again and Wilson sighed to himself. She had her mind made up, but she needed a little push. Someone to tell her it is okay. Wilson wouldn't be that person. He had seen what it had done to House to be left alone. He wouldn't be the one to force the separation on Mark.

They continued to eat in silence, drank their wine, and Stacy evaded direct eye contact.

"Why did you ask to meet me?" Wilson asked after some time. "To sanction your decision?"

She gave him a look that was close to a deer caught in the headlights of a very fast car.

"I'm not," Wilson continued. "It's your decision and you'll have to live with it."

Stacy gazed at her food again. "I know. I still love him, James."

"You also still loved House."

There was a pained expression on her face. "That's not fair."

Wilson felt his face harden for a moment. "It wasn't fair to him either."

"What I did was to help!"

"Without asking him first."

"He was about to destroy himself!" Stacy argued. "I wanted him to live! He was in so much pain… you weren't there! You didn't see him."

Wilson clenched his teeth. "No, I wasn't there. It was you, your decision, and your consequences. I won't be there this time either. I picked up the pieces last time, even for years after you left. I'm not going to this time."

Stacy drew a shaky breath, gazing at her dinner plate. "I'm not asking you to."

"Then what do you want, Stacy?"

"How's Greg?"

The change of topic was swift and Wilson gave it a mental shrug. "He's doing well."

"You moved in together?"

He nodded, attacking his steak.

"James, please…" she begged.

Wilson looked up, then sighed. "You know I won't give you any information that involves House as… as a special person," he said slowly.

Stacy nodded. She was an ally. She understood that fact.

"I just want to know how the two of you are doing."

Wilson briefly scanned her, then decided to leave out most of the stuff that had happened, including the three months of 'rehab' in San Diego, and simply told her about everything else, everything that didn't involve the paranormal.

"We're fine. He's still himself, he's still miserable, he's still a pain."

She smiled sadly. "But he's happier than before."

Wilson shrugged.

"You managed what I never could."

"Stacy…"

She shook her head, dark eyes vulnerable. "You love him, James. I did, once. Still do in a way. But you managed to be something for him I never could. I'm not sure what it is between you, but he needs it. He needs it more than what I could give, or was willing to."

A wave of emotions touched Wilson's shielded mind and he sighed softly. "Stacy…"

"No, it's okay." She turned back to her food. "It's okay."

Wilson gazed at her, then decided against forcing the issue. Stacy had come to talk to him, not the other way around. He would let her lead the conversation and if this was the end of this particular topic, he would accept it.

* * *

Strong fingers buried in his hair, lips claimed his own in a harsh kiss, and Wilson stumbled back against the wall with a thump. The assault didn't let up, continued with close to bruising strength, and he gave as good as he got. His teeth nipped at the harshly kissing lips, his hands clenched into the already wrinkled shirt of his attacker, and he groaned as a leg was pushed between his, coming up against his groin.

House finally let up, his blue eyes burning with a fire Wilson knew only too well, and he slid a hand over the stubbled jaw.

"Quite a welcome," Wilson commented.

House answered with another kiss that tapered off into little bites and nips along his jaw to the throat.

"Greg…" he whispered, tilting his head back.

Damn, it felt good.

"How was dinner?" House asked, voice rough.

"It was dinner. That's all."

"You had dinner with her."

Wilson sighed softly. "It's no secret. You knew it."

"Tell me," House demanded.

Wilson drew back, eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"Why? You need to ask why? She asks you out for dinner, what do you think I'm thinking? Had a nice chat about me, Jimmy? About how the healer did a good job on my leg? How you can feel me so well?"

Wilson centered himself almost automatically, his flare of emotions brief and far from breaking through with a violent yell and shove, and he simply met the blazing blue eyes.

"We talked about Mark. We talked about what happened at the hospital. We talked about her. She didn't ask about the paranormal and I wouldn't tell her, Greg. Never."

House's temper was still there, visible in his eyes, but with a slight slump of shoulders he backed away from the fight. Not that Wilson would have fought. His soothing abilities were already caressing House's mind and soul, and he saw his lover relent.

"Why is it so hard for you to trust me?"

"I do trust you!" House snapped immediately.

"Not when it comes to Stacy, I assume."

House ran a hand through his unruly hair and turned away, limping deeper into the living room. Wilson watched him, not moving from his position. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

"House…"

"Keep it to yourself," his lover growled and headed for his office.

Wilson flinched slightly when the door was banged shut, then sighed deeply and walked into the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes, tore off the tie, and hung up his jacket. Wilson padded back into the kitchen to get himself something to drink, then decided to kill a few hours in his own office. House would need time to work off his anger and whatever else was going through that genius mind of his. Wilson wouldn't dream of opening his senses to the other man. Right now that would only get him a headache.

* * *

It was almost midnight when House emerged from the office, carrying his iPod. His eyes fell on the empty living room and he frowned, then his gaze was on the still closed door of the office. The frown deepened and he limped over, banging the cane loudly against it.

For a moment there was no reaction, then the door was opened. Wilson looked at him, still in his shirt and dark pants, but no tie, no jacket, and barefooted. House felt a sliver of appreciation for the slender figure in the formal-but-then-again-not-so-totally-formal outfit.

In the background the computer was on, there were folders and stacks of paper, and from the images on the screen, Wilson had logged into the Princeton-Plainsboro network and was doing office work.

"It's Friday," House groused.

"Technically, it's Saturday."

"An even better reason to not work. You're like the Energizer Bunny. You never stop!"

Wilson smirked. "I never heard you complain about it."

"That's different."

They looked at each other, still separated by a lot of space, but neither House nor Wilson made a move. House studied his lover, looked for the fine lines of a headache that accompanied an overload, but apparently Wilson had had the sense not to be empathic and had kept his shields up. Good for him, though a tiny part of House was miffed. Wilson was an empath, had always been too empathic for his own good, even before his abilities had truly been triggered. He should be sharing House's anger over this meeting with Stacy.

"You done?" Wilson asked matter-of-factly.

House snorted and turned, heading for the bedroom. For a few minutes no one followed, but finally Wilson appeared, looking annoyed and exasperated in one.

"What's your problem, Greg?"

The voice was still so very level and neutral.

"You."

"Me? Me talking to Stacy? Me having dinner with Stacy? Me being here? Me sharing your miserable life?"

House ground his teeth. His hand clenched around the head of the cane.

"Well, I figure from your significant silence that it's all," Wilson went on, anger showing.

"It's not and you know it!"

"So what is it? Stacy, right? House, she's still my friend! We had dinners before!"

"Not since… since… since she left!" House snapped back.

"Is that your whole problem? Oh well, excuse me for having a social life outside what we two do! Like fuck each other senseless!"

"It's not just that!" House yelled.

"Then what?"

He wanted Wilson to open up, to feel what was going on, because putting it into words would be… it would be a confession. House stared into the brown eyes, willing the empath to understand. Wilson just crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"She betrayed me!" House finally ground out.

"And it's the past. Stacy is not the bad guy. She's a human being and she has faults."

House glared for a moment longer before he sat down on the bed. "You didn't tell me until this morning."

"I didn't know I had to tell you about all my dinner dates."

Blue eyes flashed. "How many were there?"

"Jealousy doesn't become you," Wilson only remarked levelly.

"I'm not jealous!"

"But you want to know who I had dinner with."

"If it's Stacy, yes!"

Wilson sighed and shook his head. "Stacy isn't the enemy," he reiterated. "She's a friend. We talked, mostly about Mark and their marriage, not about you or a lot about me. She doesn't know about the changes. She won't hear it from me either."

House glared at Wilson, then lowered his gaze to glare at the floor. The oncologist finally approached and when he was near enough, House reached out and rested his hand against one hip, gently tugging. Wilson hesitated at first, but closed the remaining distance. House's arm wrapped around his waist and he briefly rested his head against the flat stomach. Wilson sighed a little and carefully lowered part of his shields.

He felt a jumbled mix of emotions, none too clear or too overpowering, and his body started to relax into the embrace.

"Sucker," House murmured against the light blue fabric of the shirt.

Wilson chuckled and carded his fingers into the graying hair. "Bastard."

House looked up at him, smirking. Wilson shook his head in fond amusement and untangled himself from the hold. He started to strip, aware of the eyes on him, and threw his shirt at House, who caught it. James disappeared into the bathroom.

"Spoil sport," House muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

* * *

"How is he?"

Wilson glanced at House, brown eyes unreadable. "Why do you want to know?"

"I need my happy place," was the quip.

"House."

The man in question grimaced and turned on his side, studying his lover. He could tell that Wilson was still holding on to his shields, which was good for him, but it also irked House to a degree. It was like James didn't trust him, though that was also a good place to be. Right now, opening up might mean pain. As much as House didn't want to be the cause of any pain for his empathic lover, he fumed silently that Wilson didn't even give this a test run to see if there might be pain involved.

Wilson mirrored his move and brought their lips together in a daring and nose-collision kind of kiss.

"I can feel enough," he murmured.

"You can read my thoughts?"

"No, I just know you. You're wondering about my shields."

House snorted.

"And they're there to stave off a migraine," Wilson continued.

"I'm a headache?"

"You can be. And a pain in the ass."

"Usually in a good way."

Wilson smiled. "Yes."

"So, about Mark?"

It got him an exasperated look. "Why, Greg? Why do you want to know about the life of a woman you don't trust me to even have dinner with?"

"I trust you," House murmured, mood changing from sarcastic to very serious. "It's her I don't trust. She destroyed too much."

"Her decisions gave you a chance to survive. You wouldn't be here today, House. We wouldn't be here."

And he couldn't fault that logic. All the pain in between was ignored to look at this moment, at their moment in the last two years. And the years before that.

House initiated the next kiss, gentler than Wilson's, and he pushed the other man to lie on his back. The kiss continued, grew deeper, but no move to make it more arousing was made. Finally House drew back and smiled as he saw another shield crumble.

"Won't hurt you," he promised roughly.

"I know."

Hands caressed his skin and he followed the gentle urge to lay down, head resting on Wilson's chest.

"Mark is… not better," the oncologist finally said after a while of silence.

House didn't even feel so much as a sliver of satisfaction. He knew how much Stacy had invested in that marriage, how she had clung to her happiness, and the illness was destroying it all like a vicious cancer.

"He's aggressive, he stopped work again, he won't go out any more."

"And no sex," House rumbled.

"Probably not."

"You didn't ask?"

“Hey, you're the expert there."

He chuckled darkly. "Yeah, I probably am."

"We just talked, Greg. Nothing more. She needed someone to listen to her and I did."

"You're good at that."

Wilson expelled air in a little sigh. "I could feel her anguish, but I can't help her."

"Can't heal the world, Jimmy."

House caressed one lean side, felt the bump of ribs under a healthy amount of muscle and warm skin.

"Will she be back?" House asked after a while.

"I don't know."

Stubble scraped across smooth chest skin and House nuzzled a perked nipple. He felt and heard Wilson's soft inhalation and smirked to himself.

"Didn't finish what we started," House said roughly as he pushed himself up to look into the chocolate brown eyes once more.

"No, we didn't," Wilson agreed.

The kiss was harsher this time and both men battled for dominance. It was a longer fight than usual and House grinned victoriously when Wilson relented. The grin turned wolfish as he gazed at the now harder breathing man. The challenge in his lover's eyes was clear and when he slid a leg between Wilson's, so was the growing arousal.  
   
 

They made love in a spooned up position, House behind his lover and sliding easily into the tight heat. He fisted the hard erection in his hand, listened to the harsh pants, the encouraging groans, until Wilson came and clenched his ass around the intruder. House groaned deeply and slammed hard into the heat, hissing as his release hit him. He was still pumping Wilson lazily, the softening erection slick and warm. Wilson shuddered, breathing hard. House placed a kiss against the sweaty neck, teething it gently. It got him another shudder.

James was wide open, as always throughout sex, and House enjoyed the responses to his light teasing. After a while Wilson moved lazily and House had enough experience to know that this meant his lover was shielded enough to be coherent and less vulnerable. They traded kisses and House reached for a towel to clean them up. Dark eyes watched him and he smiled wolfishly, running a teasing finger over the softened arousal. Wilson licked his lips.

"Shower?" he asked.

"Sleep," House countered.

"I'm sticky."

It got him a smile. "I like sticky."

"I don't." Wilson wriggled out of the embrace, wincing a little as his sore backside protested.

House grinned more and followed, limping after his lover, enjoying the sight of a bare naked James Wilson ahead of him. There might not be much action to be expected, but he could still grope and kiss a little under the shower.

* * *

"When's the next dinner date?"

Wilson looked up from his reading, a file two inches thick that Dr. Jackson had sent him from Salt Lake. Dark eyes narrowed a little, lips twisted into a grimace, then Wilson went back to reading.

"It's a fair question!" House complained.

"It's you," was the reply. "It's you being annoying and obnoxious and probably bored."

House played with an apple, juggling it together with an orange and another apple. "Who, me?"

"Yes, you. Go ride your bike or something."

House glanced pointedly at the floor to ceiling windows. A rain shower was beating against them and had so for the last hour.

"You're going to see her again, aren't you?" he poked his lover again.

"If she wants to make a date, yes. I'm still her friend."

"So you date her."

"No."

Wilson still wasn't looking up from his reading material. House studied the slender, relaxed form, smiling a little to himself. His eyes warmed at the sight and presence of his lover. He would never admit it, but he liked their quiet home moments. Weekends were something he looked forward to when it came to just being together. Not necessarily in bed and humping each other like starved bunnies. That was a bonus. But having James here was… soothing.

The dark brown eyes were back on him again, narrowing suspiciously.

Aha! Empath. House grinned. Wilson had picked up on his mood.

"Not a word," Wilson grumbled, but the warmth reflecting in his eyes told House enough. He was tickled. Extremely so.

"Said nothing."

"You said enough."

"Now you're getting scary, Jimmy. You are still trying to read my mind," he teased.

There was a snort and Wilson went back to reading. House put up his legs, crossed them at the ankles, and switched on the TV.

"Would you mind?" Wilson asked after a long while of mutual silence and only the sound of the TV. "About future dates?"

House glanced at him. He met a pair of very serious eyes, giving him their full attention.

"No," he answered, aware what was asked.

"But you'll always make a big affair out of it."

"Wouldn't be fun without it."

"You're still a bastard."

"No healer can change that."

There was humor in James's eyes. "No. And I wouldn't want one to."

House chuckled. "I knew you were a masochist, Jimmy."

"Probably. And I always come back for more."

"Addict."

"You would know."

House smiled crookedly. "Yeah. Would you stop if it bothered me?"

"Only with a good reason."

"Jealousy?"

"Not good enough," Wilson told him.

"Possessiveness."

"That has never been influenced by Stacy being here or not."

House studied him, then shrugged. "I don't trust her."

"But you trust me."

He didn't answer that and he didn't really have to. House had no clear reason as to why Wilson meeting his ex was so… infuriating. It had brought out the worst in him and he had taken it out on his lover. Stacy had come back into his life, had broadsided him, and had opened old wounds. Now she was gone and while part of House missed her, another was only too glad to have her out of the hospital and somewhere he wouldn't run into the woman on a regular basis. He had loved her once. He still found her attractive, and a desperate part had tried to rekindle what they had had.

It was the past now. His future was looking at him, out of liquid brown eyes, expectant, patient and yet so exasperated. House smiled at the other man and shook his head.

No more. They had gone through too much shit to bother with mundane matters like this. Wilson smiled back at him.

"So, anything of interest from Dr. Jackson?" House asked curiously, drawing a final line under the topic of Stacy.

Wilson took his keys from there and shrugged. "How interested are you in vampire immunology?"

"Burning to get to know more." House grinned.

And it was the truth.  
   
 

Outside, the rain continued. It was a really bad day for riding one's bike, but it was a good day to listen to the warm voice of your lover, telling you about the latest research and theories on vampires. House let his mind latch onto the problems presented, analyze theories with the knowledge he had on the subject matter, and point out what he perceived as wrong conclusions or half assed research.

It was a good way to pass the bad weather.


End file.
